


Of Gods & Monsters

by moon_hedgehog



Series: sponsored by lana del rey [2]
Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Body Worship, M/M, Mythology References, Poetic things™ again, Romantic Angst, adoration, the real question is why do i post fics that were written months ago only now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-28 15:08:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15051863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_hedgehog/pseuds/moon_hedgehog
Summary: Some people build churches from sand;mine of stained glass.





	Of Gods & Monsters

**Author's Note:**

> [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oKxuiw3iMBE)  
>  fun fact: Lana also has song Gods & Monsters, I just don't like it.

The sea gently licks the shore, taking the shards of time with itself – tiny grains of sand, polished glass, curved shells. The sun doesn't warm here – only shines, playfully, into the eyes, making to squint from the glares dancing on the retina. A fervent-sharp wind blows somewhere from the horizon's side, from the side of the drowned underworld, from the side of the down that has become up. Spreading their wings, the seagulls unhurriedly fly over the earth, relaying tales of tides and drowning ships to each other.

Now Henry Jekyll – one of these ships. He looks at his God through the prism of sunglasses, afraid to singe his eyes with an infinite, bottomless beauty. He bites his lip and, perhaps, even quietly prays, asking for keeping his sanity at least until the evening; at least until the moment he can touch divine once again. He exhales silently, in fear to disturb and miss the slightest movement. He seems to be shaking like in a fever, but couldn't care less about this himself.

Edward Hyde's swinging and laughing, and picking up handfuls of sand – and salty, hot water timidly-smarmy kisses his feet. The sun smoothly kneels before him, gilding his sharp features with the last rays. A tiny vintage radio continues to sing love ballads quietly, standing near his dropped shoes.

No damn ballads can describe what Henry Jekyll is feeling right now. Once upon a time, he was no one – his life, spent in darkness, made a monster out of him. His eyes narrowed, shoulder blades curved ugly, teeth sharpened, and heart lost hope, becoming blacker than a winter night. He was dying: wrenching in a fetal position, convulsively inhaling the last remnants of oxygen, trying to cut out the lungs in hope of getting rid of the consuming pain. He didn't know what to live for and what to cling to.

Like that – in his own black vomit and with torn to the inky blood chest – he was found by a ray of light. This ray healed his wounds and wiped the ways of tears on his cheeks, sewed up his entrails and _led to its creator_. He remembers it like now – then he thought that in front of him is the one who will end this suffering forever, so he obediently bowed his head; but in response was only laughed, kissed, pushed to the bed, revived. Then let go. His God's never forced him to follow – but after the first night without soft light in his bed, Henry Jekyll nearly went mad and rushed behind his Lord at his heels; howling like a cur thrown to death. And he was accepted. He was allowed to kiss out the endless waves of flowers on God's back, allowed not to take off his eyes with squally adoration in the center of the pupil and along the iris, allowed to lead in a slow dance, allowed to inhale caramel with tulips, and

_Allowed to live._

In vain he tried to pay his debt, and when was told that there is no debt at all and he's completely free – he burst in tears and swore to build the most beautiful altar, daily sprinkling it with blood from his heart; but again was told that it isn't necessary, _just live, I let you_. Henry Jekyll, of course, still built the altar, but only it was placed deep inside his heart.

 

Edward suddenly turns around, cunningly squints, and jumps to him, wrapping arms around his neck. Emerald waves splash in his eyes, Jekyll sees it even through sunglasses that immediately fly into the sand, thrown off by the thin fingers of his God.

“What does my Master want?” Jekyll croaks, afraid of doing the slightest move wrong.

Edward snorts (this mortal will never learn anything, well what can you do) and pokes him, making Jekyll's breath breaks into thousands of pieces.

“You… to kiss me.” He squints again and with a lighting speed, playfully licks Henry in the nose; then withdraws, watching poorly concealed thirst in his eyes.

“Only to kiss?” Jekyll whispers, millimeters from lips with a taste of honey. If he would have less respect and self-control – long ago would've overturned his Deity right here, on the blackish sand. Only the ever-gnawing fear of seeing in the eyes you worship pain was always much stronger. So time after time he just sucked the air through gritted teeth, internally counting the pages in their lullaby book.

“Only to kiss.” Edward smiles tantalizingly and reaches out to him with lips.

Jekyll freezes – let this God play, drinking his soul to the end. Tonight he'll give an order to take him on the table, in their small coastal house, and Henry will be able to prove his love not only in words (although, of course, no proof of him is required).


End file.
